


Pity

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Angst, F/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never wanted affection.</p><p>Tumblr Prompt: ”My Funeral” by For All Those Sleeping (Sync x Natalia)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pity

It’s the way she looks at him, the faint downturned corners of her lips, the bright sad (so sad) blue eyes, the trembling fingers and flared nostrils. She’s trying not to cry, or so he thinks, and he smirks at her because that expression is at least fitting. He deserves all her hate, all of her ire, not any misguided sense of ‘saving him’. The concept’s so broken and so old, a worn out record, that he can only laugh at it with his head thrown back and his nails piercing his palms. 

He has no idea what to make of her beyond she is royalty and an enemy and perhaps a halfway decent archer he should be aware of on the battlefield. Her heart is weak and open and bleeding for every poor sod that comes up to her with their hands before them and eyes pleading, and it’s almost amusing to see her struggle to help every single one. Doesn’t she realize there’s no chance in hell for her to do a damn good thing in the long run? These people can’t be saved just like him.

But she tries. That’s the part he doesn’t understand, the part that confuses him the most. What’s the point of trying when failure is inevitable? Even when she fights him, and her eyes flick to his, and he senses there’s so much more hiding behind that fierce expression and trembling mouth, he sees little point in her charade. She will get nothing out of this.

He sees her, again and again and again, sometimes from afar, sometimes up close and personal, her hands steady around the bow but her eyes revealing the pain of taking a single life. Watches Asch struggle with old feelings and new knowledge, even when Asch leaves them. Watches Largo too when he figures it out, figures out what Sync did early on, and knows that Largo will fight and lose.

It’s not admiration for her, nothing of the kind. It’s loathing, and loathing of himself. He is a waste of time and space, of thought and action, aside from perhaps combat. Yet she, like her allies, speaks to him as though to a wounded animal, not seeing just another replica or piece of trash but a person, and he despises her for it.

Pain he can take, pity he can not.

He is unworthy of anything except hate. Why can she not see that? Why is she so blind?

He fights her to open her eyes, to show her the darkness that will never abate, the evil that she can never know or understand because she is ‘good’. When his lips curl into a sneer, he feels his heart skip a beat, and he wants to strangle her and her look of pity.

When he falls, she reaches for him, and he curls away, laughing like a maniac, and spits at her feet.

No one will cry for him. No one should. His death means nothing, and her supposed lies mean less.

He still can’t explain the tears that fall as he fades into fonic nothingness.


End file.
